Mail Room
by Simon920
Summary: Dick Grayson goes undercover at Wayne Enterprises; trouble ensues.
1. Chapter 1

**Mail Room**

** Part One  
**

"Okay, listen up. New guy here, name's Johnny. Show him the ropes and play nice."

The new guy gave a look somewhere between deer in the headlights and hopeful. His jeans looked stiffly new, his sneakers were Wal-mart specials and his black hair had that freshly cut look. He tried a shy 'hi' and a new puppy-like smile. He had first job written all over him, either that or he really needed this job so bad he could taste it—or both. Probably a high school grad, maybe. The kid wasn't what anyone would call a genius, at least it sure seemed he was hitting a pretty basic level. Ah well, everyone needed a paycheck and he could work out, you never knew.

"Ben, you show him the ropes this week, let him follow you around, see how things are done, introduce him around. Okay, gentlemen start your sorting. Johnny? Any questions just ask the guys and you'll be fine." Johnny awkwardly nodded his thanks then follow Ben over to the sorting tables.

"Okay, so we basically sort everything that comes in here. A lot of the stuff has someone's name on it or maybe just a department. If it's a name you find their box in the pigeonholes here and if it's just a department you toss it over here were it says 'Legal', Accounting' and like that." Ben worked as he talked, all the regulars mail room guys did, letters moved fast. Johnny watched for a few minutes then tried a few himself, his hand getting hit for the third time by flying paper when Carlos gave him a semi-patient look.

"Don't worry, kid, just stand back 'til you get the hang of it, 'kay?"

Johnny nodded, standing back half a step. "Hey Ben, what do we do if there isn't anything to tell us who the stuff is for? I mean like this one just says 'Wayne Enterprises'."

"Over there. They go to some secretaries who just open that stuff—mostly it's people either wanting money from Big Bruce or maybe wanting a job."

And so the day went, the new guy slowly giving sorting a try then following Ben around as he made his deliveries floor by floor, wheeling a cart as he went. The new kid didn't say much, just walked behind the cart, made himself sort of invisible and kept his head down. Ben started to wonder if he was shy, uncomfortable or just stupid; it wasn't like delivering mail was rocket science, right? Whatever.

"So, Johnny, what made you apply here? You always want to sort mail?"

"Um, I. I mean...uh, I guess it's a job, y'know?"

Ben nodded, yes, it was a job.

* * *

"I think it's a good idea, Bruce, let the boy learn how things work from the ground up. Let him know that it's not all polished tables and assistants doing your bidding around here."

"Yes, well, I think it will do him some good but, I don't know. I mean he started out in a blue collar family, I've heard they were a very nice blue collar family and all but I guess I'd hoped that he could leave all that behind instead of, well, he seems to be embracing this mail room thing." Lucius turned to get back to his own office. "And hey, make sure that no one knows who Dick is, okay? The whole point of his doing this 'undercover learning from the ground up' thing won't work if people realize he's him."

"Of course, makes sense."

"If you see him walking around, pretend like you don't know him, okay?"

"'Not a word from me and I doubt if any of the folks down in the mail room know what Dick looks like. And his just being in a completely unexpected job like that should be enough to hide him from anyone else around here." Or so he hoped, anyway, though he was angry that Dick wasn't even in any kind or real disguise other than Wal-mart work clothes and a bad haircut. So long as Lucius was semi-in on this then there was less chance of Dick's cover, such as it was, being blown.

* * *

"Bruce? You were right. I've found at least seven packages coming through here that were pharmaceutical grade cocaine, maybe more."

"Who were they addressed to?"

"That's the thing; different people and in some cases, no one, just general delivery stuff."

"Which implies that the name on the package may not really matter, that it's just having the stuff inside the building so someone or someones can make a pickup."

"Are the mail room people intercepting them?"

"No, didn't even seem to notice what they were delivering. I think they may be clean, or at least the ones I worked with seemed so, anyway."

"Maybe, but keep an eye on them."

Dick nodded. "So the question becomes which someones. I'm on it." As usual, they were on the same page. "By the way, aren't I due for a promotion? If I'm just down in the mail room to see how the place works I should be at least a junior exec by now, don't you think?"

Bruce failed to see the humor. "No one is supposed to know who you are, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah. Lighten up, Okay? I was just kidding."

The rest of the week Dick did as he was told, kept his mouth largely shut and stayed on the down-low. There were a couple of close calls when he was asked to deliver the mail to the top floors but, "Forget it kid; if anyone is going to get noticed by Old Bruce, it's gonna be me. Hows about you get yourself some coffee or something for a while. Take a walk."

Meanwhile he was doing everything he reasonably could to break the cocaine case. Who was sending? Who was it ending up with? Who was getting the money? And why would anyone think that corporate offices of Wayne Enterprises would make a safe drop site?

"Okay, you have over three thousand employees in the building on any given work day but in this case I really don't think that the drugs are coming here because of the idea that there may be safety in numbers."

"So why are they coming here if someone in the building isn't dealing?"

"I didn't say there isn't someone with their hands in here, I'm just saying it seems like a stupid drop site, that's all."

"Stupid maybe, but it seems to be working for someone."

"And there in lies the rub..."

* * *

"So Johnny, you wanna catch a beer?"

"Um, I, I dunno. I guess maybe. Sure."

"Wassa matter, kid? You never have a brew?"

"It's just that, I mean, it's just that my mom doesn't like it if I drink, y'know?"

"One beer? That ain't drinking, kid; that's just wetting your whistle. C'mon."

"Hey, Ben leave'm alone, will you? Not everyone likes to get wasted after work." He'd decided that Johnny was borderline retarded and was likely a charity hire. The kid was pretty dim most of the time...except for times when he'd lose the blank look and you'd swear absolutely nothing was getting past him and that he had a mental computer behind his eyes. It made him curious.

Maybe he was like Rainman. Idiot savant, wasn't that what they called people like that? Y'know, the ones who can't count past three but can compose symphonies. Weird.

"I just thought it might be nice to get to know the new kid, y'mind?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. 'Lesgo."

Twenty minutes later they were sitting at a table with glasses and a pitcher of draft in the middle, already largely empty.

"So, Johnny, tell us about Johnny."

"Huh?"

The other men exchanged glances. The kid _had_ to be a charity case or something. "How'd you end up in old Bruce's mail room?"

"I needed a job? My dad said I had to make money and so I'm doing what he said."

Ben smiled. The kid may be dumb but he wasn't a bad sort. "We all needed jobs. I meant how did you end up in _this_ job? I'm sure there a re other things you could do."

Johnny looked surprised at that. "Like what?" His question was met with a shrug. "Oh, okay. I was working at the deli—you know Vinnie's Deli?—I was making sandwiches there but I kept getting confused about the orders so Vinnie said that maybe I should look for something more up my alley. That's what he said, 'something more up my alley'. It's okay, I like the mail room and I get to talk to a lot of people and stuff, get to walk around."

"But how did you end up at Wayne? You could sort mail anywhere."

"I could?" He looked like that had never occurred to him. "Um, I've been to the subway stop on the corner and so I figured I knew how to get here."

"Being able to find where you work is a good start. You like your job?"

"Um, yeah. I mean everyone's really nice most of the time and one of the secretaries smiled at me yesterday." There was some suggestive laughter from the guys at the table at that.

"You liked that?"

"Yeah, I like not having to stay in the same room all day." He sipped his beer, the insinuation going past him. "Hey, any of you guys ever see Mr. Wayne? Man, wouldn't that be something, seeing old Bruce sitting there all rich and stuff?"

"Yeah, well we don't really travel in the same circles, if you know what I mean."

"Huh?"

"...Never mind."

A silence descended as they finished their drinks with Ben refilling the glasses.

"Um, hey, I was wondering something; you know those packages that came in yesterday? The ones in the brown paper? I don't get it. If they were like supplies, paper or pens or something, how come they didn't just go to the purchasing department? I was thinking and I don't get it."

The men exchanged glances. "Lookit, Johnny—some free advice; deliver the mail and don't ask questions and you'll get along just fine, okay?"

"But..."

"Don't go butting your nose in where it doesn't belong and you'll be okay."

"Yeah, but there were like fifty of them and they..."

"Ah shit, lookit the time. I gotta get going or Madge will have my head. See 'ya tomorrow, boys."

* * *

Dick made his way down the stairs into the cave, Bruce was sitting at the computer console. "Fifty kilos of pharmaceutical grade coke came into the mail room this morning, individually wrapped in one kilo packages, addressed to about ten different mid-management/junior execs on the twelve through the fifteenth floors."

"'They working together for some extra money?"

"'Working on it but maybe. It seems stupid that they'd all agree to receive drugs at work like that."

"Doesn't it just. Which ones?"

Dick spent about thirty seconds on the computer accessing the list. "'Mean anything to you?"

"They're all relatively recent hires but aside from that, they don't have any connections to one another and they all came with good references which were checked out."

"Someone in HR?"

"Maybe. Work on that."

Dick nodded. "I also found out that these shipments, in various sizes and to various combinations to this list—five one week, seven the next—have been going on for at least six months. I'm willing to assume that at least some of the mail guys are also getting a cut of the take."

"I'd assume, yes. See what you can learn."

"I tried to feel them out but they stonewalled me and seemed nervous, either that or they're afraid of losing their jobs or of some kind or repercussions from the dealers if they say anything. I'll keep on it but they're pretty sure that I'm a harmless idiot, that should offer some protection."

Bruce nodded, yes, it should. "Let's hope."

* * *

Bruce considered getting Wayne Security on the case, have them keep an eye on the various executives and the mail room as well as receiving but thought better of it. Better to let things ride for now, have Dick find out what he can and go over the security tapes himself instead of getting others involved before they knew how far this thing had become ingrained into the company. It was a simple thing to have the tapes transferred to his own computer without anyone being the wiser.

Better to keep the lid on this while they could. With the public perception of big business being a shill for Satan, the PR nightmare was something he'd rather skip until they had all the facts.

"But sir, I must say that I'm concerned that someone at Wayne Corp will recognize Master Richard, it could be dangerous for you both should that occur."

Far be it for Alfred to hide his feelings when it came to either one of his charges. Bruce paused a moment, in truth he was worried about that as well but, "He's not in any areas where he'll be likely to see anyone who might recognize him and he can take care of himself." Usually.

"But surely these people read the company newsletter, see his picture in the papers and such. Heavens, the young master was featured in last month's People magazine yet again; he's not as anonymous as we might hope."

Yes, but it couldn't be helped. Dick could deal with it. He had before and he would again. "If there's a reason to think he's been compromised I'll pull him. Don't worry."

"I'm afraid that it's too late for that, sir."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Mail Room**

**Part Two**

Dick had been working in the mail room for three weeks now, sorting the boxes and packages when he found another twenty or so large padded envelopes with the same postal mark. Glancing to see that no one was watching, he carefully made a small hole in one of the packages with a tiny screwdriver. Sure enough, when he withdrew it was coated with white powder. He put the smallest amount on his tongue; yes, cocaine. Looking at the addresses he noted that they were mostly headed up to Legal with a few going to accounting.

"Johnny!"

Pretending to be startled, he jerked, purposely dropping the envelope then bending to pick it up, turning the small hole towards his body. Ben was standing less than three feet away. "Wha? I was just, just sorting. I was just sorting, Benny. Sorting."

Jesus, the kid was a moron. "Lunch, dude. Go eat."

"But I'm sorting."

"You can sort more when you get back. 'Keep your strength up, eat your vegetables, didn't your Mama ever teach you that? A car can't run without gas."

"But, but I don't have a car, Ben."

Idiot. "Some day you might; go get some food." The kid nodded nervously and turned to go, stumbling a bit as he tripped over his untied shoelace.

"So, what do you think?" Kevin was holding the package Johnny had dropped, his finger pointing to the small hole.

Ben took the envelope for a closer look. "'Probably nothin', the kid's too stupid to notice anything and if he did he'd keep his mouth shut."

"But..."

"He's afraid of losing his job, right? He says anything, yell at him for damaging one of the pieces of mail, really lay into him—he'll back down quick."

Ben was in the men's room on the seventeenth floor, executive territory, quietly speaking with the man beside him. "I'm telling you it's okay; the kid doesn't know black from white, he's barely literate on a good day and I'm talking spelling 'cat'. Don't worry, I'm watching him."

"And if you're wrong it'll all come down on you, you understand that, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Lighten up, willya?"

Two nights later Dick was in the cave, catching Bruce up on his latest intell. "It's more widespread than we suspected at first; it's not just Wayne Corp, it's also in Smith Barney, Coca-cola, Exxon and possibly GM. The drugs are mostly mailed in small packages but are also being brought in with big shipments of stuff like car parts with the port people being either stupid or paid off. Or both."

"The unions are involved?"

"It looks that way, yes but it goes beyond the unions. Anyway, this is enormous, it's looking like the biggest importing scheme we've dealt with, hundreds of thousands of kilos every month coming into at least a dozen or more separate collection sites then distributed." Dick swallowed a mouthful of beer.

"Organized crime?"

"I'm assuming. I don't see how something this big could happen on this scale without the mob giving it the okay and taking a cut."

"Yu don't think they're really in charge of this?"

"'Not sure but it doesn't feel like one of their big drug deals. I'm thinking that it may be some new guys, a new cartel or something along those lines who are paying off the old guard for a cut of the pie."

Bruce rubbed his chin, Dick's report was about what he'd expected but the enormity was more than he'd foreseen and if he was right about this being a new drug ring it would complicate things This was huge and international, much bigger than he'd initially thought. They may have to get the CIA and Interpol involved in addition to however many local jurisdictions. "What about you, your cover still good?"

"Yeah, no problem. They think I'm an idiot."

"Make sure they keep thinking that way."

"'Shouldn't be hard to do that." Dick's smile broke out for a moment then; "When do you want to bring Gordon in?"

"As soon as you have some names of the people higher up the food chain at Wayne."

"'That should be in a day or two."

"Good, keep me informed when we're ready to move."

"You got it."

The next day the mail room was inundated with packages, junk mail, real mail and a backlog the post office seemed to have found in a warehouse somewhere—left there after the latest hurricane had swamped one of their distribution centers.

"Johnny, make sure you get those sacks emptied and start on them; it's first class."

"Okay, Ben. I'm, should I, um, it's a little wet."

"Yeah, it happens in a flood. Just do the best you can and make sure you don't tear any of it." The kid looked scared, like another rule such as 'don't tear the mail' might be enough to overwhelm him. "Just do your best and be careful, okay?"

"Um, yeah, I'll be real careful."

Ben nodded encouragement. "I know you will."

The wet mail, and make no mistake, some it was still actually dripping, was a mess. A large percentage was first class and contained god knew what letters, contracts, resume submissions and who knew what all. The warning not to tear anything was warranted as well; wet paper isn't known for it's tensile strength—what a mess. Three hours later, as lunch time was getting close, Dick was close to being finished with peeling apart the stuck together mail from five of the sacks with at least twenty more to go. The best solution would be to lay the mail out on tables or whatever so they could air dry but the volume made that almost impossible so the decision was made to simply spread out as many as feasible on the floor and walk around them for a while.

Dick was just starting on another sack when he knew he'd likely hit pay dirt. There were at least thirty padded 8X10 envelopes all addressed to legal and looking like they probably held thick contracts or legitimate mail but might well contain more drugs; after a dozen years experience under his belt as Robin and then Nightwing, he had a good eye for these things. Glancing around he saw he was alone for the moment. Dropping one of the packages on the floor he deliberately put his foot on it then bent to pick it up, 'accidentally' tearing a corner. Yes, he could see the edge of the inner wrapping and in that was white powder. Bull's eye. Again.

"Johnny—what the hell you doin'? Jesus, you ripped one of Legal's letters? Goddammit. Here, gimme. I'll get some tape on it and explain it to them myself."

"But, I didn't, it was an accident. I swear to god. I, I, oh man, I'm sorry. Sorry, Benny."

"I know, kid. Don't you worry, I'll tell 'em, these things happen. It'll be okay."

"But...I didn't mean to hurt anything, I'm tryin' really hard, Benny, really, real hard and I didn't mean to..." The kid seemed close to tears.

"It'll be okay, Johnny, it'll be fine. Just be more careful, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah—I will. I didn't mean to..."

"I know, it'll be fine."

"Ben, you see this?"

"Johnny. I know. Just keep an eye on him but you how he is, he was real upset when I called him on that and he doesn't know what's inside."

"You sure about that?"

"C'mon, you've dealt with him. He wouldn' know how he got wet if he went out in a rain storm."

"You damn well better be right about that."

"You ever know me to be wrong?"

In fact, Ben had suspicions about Johnny from the second week and had been keeping an eye on him. While his suspicions weren't actually confirmed yet, he liked to tell himself he knew what he knew. 'The only question is what to do about it?'

There were too many things which just flat out didn't add up. Okay, the kid was an idiot and probably hired under some workers with disabilities act or something but still...Wayne Corp was known for it's open hiring policies, but they were still in business to make money and with a kid this slow, even in a mail room, well...

Then about a week ago the penny finally dropped. He was sitting eating his lunch in the employees cafeteria and started thumbing through a copy of the company magazine someone had left on the table. There it was, bright as day on page seven; 'Wayne heir Richard Grayson opens new Wayne Corp funded Urgent Care facility in Gotham'. The picture was a little blurry but it was Johnny or, if not, his twin brother. The only question was why Wayne heir Richard Grayson would be doing his daddy's dirty work by going undercover in the frigging mail room. Assuming it was him, that is.

And that didn't matter to Ben. What mattered was that the kid was there, wasn't as stupid as he was pretending to be and was probably reporting back to old Bruce every night at dinner. The odds were that he was working with Security who was maybe in tight with the GPD, gathering evidence and was just waiting till he had enough to blow the whistle.

Crap.

One way or another, it was getting time to pull the kid's plug. It was Friday, next week would be soon enough. Monday. And if the kid wasn't Grayson?

Ben mentally shrugged. 'Sucks to be him.'

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

Friday night Batman and Nightwing were patrolling, talking via head sets. "Batman, slow down, I saw something."

"More information."

"Looked like a truck being loaded. 5th and 8th."

"I'm on it."

"Me too."

There it was, a windowless van behind the big jewelry store, three men loading smallish crates in semidarkness.

A simple bust, ten minutes later the GPD was on the scene. A lieutenant nodded at the costumes. "Thanks, we've been after these guys for a while now. Good job."

"What's in the boxes?"

"Pharmaceutical grade coke and lots of it."

Nightwing turned, "Not jewelry?"

"Not this time. It looks like they were just using this place as a drop."

Batman and Nightwing exchanged glances; more coke or more of the same?

Later, back in the cave, going over the evening and various opened cases, Bruce turned to Dick. "Assuming that tonight's bust was part of the coke ring you're dealing with at Wayne, be careful. They may make the associ..."

"I know, I know; they may make the association between the bust and start worrying about things getting hot for the Wayne Corp division of their operation."

"Lose the attitude and watch your back."

"I always do." But he smiled as he said it. Unsaid was the posibility that this bust might have nothing to do with what was going down at Wayne. Time would tell.

* * *

The weekend was relatively quiet, Nightwing patrolled Bludhaven, made a few minor arrests and came as close to relaxing as was feasible. He watched the Knights lose another game with Tim, researched what he could involving possible members of the drug cartel and did what he could to make headway with specific names and locations.

"Any luck?"

He didn't bother to look up from his laptop, glancing at Bruce's image on the screen. "Yes. The drugs look like they're coming in from Columbia, no surprise. The pick up is probably just off-shore of the Keys and the transfer in via sea plane then flown to either Baltimore or Wilmington, Delaware. From there they get trucked or moved by boat to Gotham and Bludhaven."

"And who gets delivery?"

"That's the hard part; it looks like they have a large network, at least thirty or forty individuals who get drops either at their various work places or god knows where else."

Bruce nodded. "'Sounds like we should intercept at the entry points; Florida or the host cities."

"Sounds like. But we also have to shut down the locals or they'll just find another source."

"Obviously. I'll get on the intercept, you deal with the drops at Wayne and around the area."

Dick nodded, thinking 'duh' to himself. Of course he was going to shut down the locals. On Monday he'd nail the evidence to bring down Ben and the rest as well as pulling the names of the Wayne employees receiving the actual drugs. They should be able to issue arrest warrants by Monday afternoon or later that evening.

* * *

Ben's weekend was similar in it's way; he was also thinking about how to deal with the current situation. "We'll have to take him out. It shouldn't be all that difficult, just make him think we don't suspect anything, think he's still an idiot pity hire, take him out to lunch or for a cup of coffee and deal with him."

The man on the other end of the phone was dubious. "If he's Wayne's kid, first of all, why would Wayne put the boy in danger so that's stupid. Second, if you off him you'll be in the sights of not only Wayne but every cop and PI on the East Coast and, by extension, everyone else will be in their headlights. And let's not forget that Wayne is Wayne, right? He has friends in costume and he has Gordon in his pocket; he could become a problem if we piss him off by killing Grayson, if he is Grayson."

"So what are you saying; leave the kid alone, let him take us down? I'm telling you, I'm sure he's Dick Grayson, the only reason he's doing this is because someone suspects and..."

"Calm down, m'friend."

"You're just gonna let him send us all away? But we can stop that happening and ..."

A quiet laugh. "Now, now, now, I didn't say _that_, did I? We'll contain him, you stay out of it."

"But..."

"Leave this to the professionals. And Benny? You done good giving us a head's up." Somehow that didn't make Benny feel any better.

* * *

On Monday Dick/Johnny was in place down in the mail room, starting to sort the weekend's accumulated mail for fifty-seven floors of offices and employees. He was quietly working his own station, radio playing oldies over on the break table, keeping his ears opened to anything which might come his way.

Something was going on, just a feeling a vibe in the air and he didn't like it. There was nothing obvious, nothing he could actually point to but something was up and he suspected he was in the middle of it. He didn't know how, but he was sure that his cover was blown. Time to go, or at least make a phone call

"Uh, Benny? I gotta, I gotta go, okay?" He squirmed a little shifting his feet and looking in the direction of the men's room.

Benny didn't look up. "Can you wait twenty minutes till your break, kid?"

"I really gotta go, Benny, real bad."

"Yeah, sure, but make it quick, don't get lost." Johnny nodded and came close to running towards that bathroom.

Benny looked over at Carlos. "You gotta take a leak. Follow him."

Carlos walked into the men's room; it was empty. Benny wasn't happy but not surprised when he reported back and took out his cell. "We may have a problem."

* * *

Dick was on the street, avoiding any possible contact with his coworkers, or so he hoped. He strongly suspected that he'd been outted somehow, that he was in serious danger and the case might be dissolving as he walked. No one had said anything to him but the looks he was getting, the feeling of being watched was something he'd learned to recognize over the lasr decade and he trusted his instincts. Not good. He wasn't all that worried about his personal safety; hell, that was a daily reality in his life. He just didn't want to screw up the bust after the time he'd put in. Plus he really hated drug dealers.

Pulling out his cell he hit the contact list, "It's me. I'm pretty sure they're on to me."

"Come in."

"Not yet, I want to see what they're going to do about it."

"If you're right, they're likely to try to kill you...(Bruce reconsidered who he was speaking with)...fine. Watch your back." Stating the obvious.

Phone back in his pocket he felt a hand on his arm. "Hey Johnny, this isn't the way to the bathroom. You take a wrong turn?"

"I just wanted to see some sunlight, Benny. You know how it's been raining all week? I just wanted to see the sun, some sunshine." He tried a vacant smile. It didn't work.

"Well, time to get back to work, Johnny. Okay?"

With little choice he smiled again and nodded; "Okay."

* * *

Benny met with the head of Legal after lunch, alone in the man's office with the door closed, company newsletter and Johnny's employee ID side by side on the man's desk. "He's Richard Grayson and if he isn't then he's the guy's clone."

"You're sure? And what the hell would Wayne's kid be doing playing Village Idiot in the mail room? 'He a narc?"

"I dunno; maybe. Wasn't there some rumor a while ago that Wayne was all pissed because the kid wanted to go to the Police Academy in Newark or Bludhaven or someplace? Maybe he's just trying to impress his dad, maybe he thinks he can get in on the action and score some money."

The lawyer shook his head, not quite managing to hide his smile at the thought. "I doubt that he needs it." Seriously.

"You don't know; maybe Wayne has him on a tight leash. It could happen, it's not like he's his real kid or anything; just some orphan he picked up."

"No, I think he wants in."

"He Grayson?" Benny looked at the man. "I don't think so. I mean if that's what he wants why would he keep quiet for a month and, like you said, it's not like he needs the money."

The head of Legal filled him in. "You're missing my point. I don't know why Grayson is there but we can assume it's to try to stop whatever they may think is going on. Maybe they know what the real deal is, maybe not. Either way, I guarantee that they want it stopped; Wayne prides himself on being squeaky clean. If there's a smuggling operation in his headquarters it will affect the bottom line and he can't have that, now, can he?"

Benny nodded, the guy was right. "So, what do you want us to do?"

"You think the kid wants in? Fine, let's let him in. And Benny?"

"Yeah?"

"No reason to say anything to Richard, you understand?"

"Uh-huh."

"Don't let him think you suspect anything, everything's normal. And let's just say that there's 'in' and there's 'in'."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

"C'mon, nobody's going to believe that Grayson would purposely try to screw his father, try to embarrass him."

"By the time we're through, they will; Grayson is known to be estranged from Wayne, right? They had some big-ass falling out around the time the kid dropped out of school. So he decided to get even by bringing embarrassment to his 'father's' company, humiliate him in the world press."

"Surely you aren't saying that he needed the money?"

"Grayson? Cripes, why is the only thing you jerks can think of? No, I didn't say that. I said that this wasn't based in finance but simple revenge for being thrown out and, if you'll allow me, to be orphaned a second time by the man who had, for a while, offered him refuge and a home."

"And the best idea he could come up with is to have himself indited as a drug accomplice and frame Wayne Corp as a drop site for importers?"

"Grayson is a kid, right? I didn't say it was the best idea he ever had. You have kids? Okay, so they do dumb things."

"What about evidence? We hafta have something more than our word against theirs."

The man smiled, it wasn't pleasant. "There's traces of cocaine in his locker and inside his jacket pockets as well inside his wallet."

Benny blinked. Jesus. If they'd already planted shit on the kid was there stuff in his locker and car, too? Probably. Shit. "So what do you want me to do?"

"Nothing yet. We'll let you know."

No doubt.

It wasn't a good feeling.

* * *

"Everything going all right?"

Dick paused as though phrasing his thoughts, unusual for him. "I think that we need to wrap this up fast; I think they're suspicious I'm doing more than sorting mail."

Bruce's eyes shifted to the boy. "'You in danger?"

"No more than usual, I just think we should put this to bed before it becomes complicated."

Bruce nodded. No, complicated wasn't good. "Make sure that we have solid evidence and we'll move."

* * *

Thursday morning the mail room was busier than usual, more first class stuff, more junk mail, more, lots more packages. The bins rolling in were overflowing and everyone was doing their best to keep up. Dick was working his station, making enough mistakes to keep his cover but not enough to single himself out or irritate the others more than necessary. Twenty after nine, more than an hour before his usual break time, Benny appeared at his shoulder.

"So Johnny, you mind taking your break a little early today?"

"How come?"

"Scheduling change, came from upstairs." He shrugged. "No explaining it, probably some MBA wet behind the ears kid trying to impress his boss or something. So, take a walk, okay?"

With a slightly vacant smile, he left in the direction of the employee lounge, veering off at the freight elevator and getting on, closing the large horizontal doors behind him. Whatever this was about the purpose was to get him out of the mail room, get him alone or both. Pressing the button for the first floor, he got out and walked down the stairs back to where he started, keeping himself out of sight and opened his ears. Standing behind a row of lockers he heard what he expected.

"Grayson is about to become a problem, time to take care of him."

"Wayne will have every cop on the planet on our asses ."

"We can handle that, we have friends who'll make sure it won't come to anything. 'A few weeks of press and it will disappear, become yesterday's news."

There was a sound, like maybe someone was shuffling their feet or shoving a box or something. "The public will forget but Wayne won't."

"'Doesn't matter, he's an idiot."

"I wouldn't count on that, the guy has a lot of friends too. He has Gordon in his pocket and you've seen the PR with him donating a shitload of money to the costumes; a couple of three months ago didn't he give the Justice League like five mil?"

Dick tried but was unable to identify the voices and he knew one was Ben, but whoever he was talking with weren't the guys he worked with.

"Yeah, okay but dead is dead and once the deal is finished Wayne can do whatever he wants and we won't be anyplace he can get to us."

"You just better hope that's the case. So, Grayson? I thought you were just going to frame him and let him take the fall."

"No final decision but one way or another he'll be taken care of soon enough."

Dick faded further back behind the lockers as footsteps came closer.

* * *

"Bruce, we have to bring this thing in now. The powers that be are on to me, this is about to blow up and we could lose the collar."

If he were any other man Batman would have shown some annoyance at the news but, being who he was, he simply accepted that their plans would now have to be moved up and revived. "Time frame?"

"Tonight at the latest."

"Fine. Be ready."

* * *

Ben saw a shadow moving away as he finished the short conversation, silently moved forward a few feet and saw Grayson walking away. The kid had been listening so now everything had to be moved up.

Friend Johnny was finished.

He pulled out his cell, dialed, spoke for twenty seconds, nodded. When the kid came back from his break Ben smiled, walked over "Johnny, c'mon, I got a special job for you."

"Special for me? But, but, Benny, um, I dunno. I might, might maybe, y'know, mess up."

"Don't worry, kid, I got your back, no problem. You're gonna be just fine." He took the kid's arm and led him to the freight elevator.

The doors closed just as four large and unpleasant men squeezed in behind them, surrounding and crowding Dick. Not good.

"Um, Benny?"

"Johnny?" Ben nodded and two of the biggest men grabbed Dick's biceps and pressing close enough that he was largely immobilized without throwing some moves; not a good idea in an enclosed space if he had other options, which he probably would have soon enough. Plus the elevator was a small space and options were sort of limited. "These gentlemen want to escort you to a friend of theirs so you go along with them, okay?"

"But Benny..."

Benny had evidently had enough and heaved a sigh. "Look, we know who you really are and we know that you're about to get in the way so it's been decided that wouldn't be acceptable."

"Benny?"

"We also know your real name is Richard Grayson and you're working in the mail room to report back to Wayne or Fox and we simply can't have that. So, you can drop the moron act. I'm sure you understand, right Dick?"

There was no point in arguing the point. He'd been suspecting for a few days that he was on thin ice and now it was breaking under his feet, not that this was the first time something like this had happened. He could deal. The others in the elevator saw the mask fall away as he dropped the pretense. The vacant look was replaced by sharp intelligence, the hesitation in his stance was now confidence. He looked like, and was, someone to be dealt with, a man who wouldn't go anywhere easily unless that was where he wanted to go.

The two men holding his arms felt his muscles tense in preparation for...

Until the prick of the needle in his arm.

* * *

"Hey Benny, where's Johnny? I need him to make a pick up up on seventeen."

"He said he didn't feel good, went home."TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

Benny knew if Grayson—or Johnny if you prefer—was 'sick' it had nothing to do with germs. He didn't care all that much aside from the fact that Grayson's 'illness' could be contagious enough to bite the asses of a few other people, including himself.

Crap. This was a complication he didn't need. Not now, not ever. "Carlos, you sure he went home? He say anything to you?"

"Nah, there was a call from upstairs. Someone called to let us know Johnny barfed or something and so they sent him home."

"Who called?"

"'Dunno. Someone." Benny nodded, there wasn't anything else he could do.

Bruce was down in the cave trying, without success, to contact Nightwing or Dick Grayson—it didn't matter, he'd talk to which ever one answered but nothing.

Picking up a standard phone he dialed Lucius Fox. "Yes, hello there Lucius. I'm sorry to bother you but I'm trying to get a hold of Dick and, darn it, he doesn't seem to be picking up. I was wondering if you could check for me—you know, without letting anyone know I'm checking up or anything, see if he clocked in this morning."

"Is there a problem?"

"Oh, it's probably nothing. I really do hate being a bother but would you mind seeing if he clocked in this morning? I'd appreciate it."

"Of course, I'd be happy to but wouldn't it be easier to just call the mail room, Bruce?" Lucius knew better than to ask; Bruce was...Bruce.

"Oh, you know how kids are, upset if they think that you're checking up on them or anything. Would you mind and get back to me? I'd hate to have him lose the job because he was sleeping in and you know how kids..."

Of course, Bruce, I'll check and call you right back."

"That's good of you, Lucius, thank you."

Lucius, against his better judgment, had his secretary call down to the sorting room—no point in having the people down there think this was a deal big enough for Fox himself to be concerned about a mail clerk, it would raise too many questions. Inside of ten minutes he was back on the phone to Bruce.

"Yes, he clocked in at 8:57 this morning, just as he usually does. Whoever answered told me that he's on break right now, 'probably why you couldn't get him to pick up. Do you need anything else, Bruce?"

"No, no 'just glad that he's where he's supposed to be. You know how kids are..." So why wasn't he answering the damn phone; he knew better than that. Bruce knew there was a problem.

"Hey Carlos, you see Johnny come back from break?"

Carlos looked up from his sorting table. "Jesus, Ben—I'm not his nanny." He looked to his left. "Nah, he's not here."

"And...?"

"And what? He's an idiot. He probably took a wrong turn and ended up in the parking garage and can't find his way out f'chrissake."

"Car..."

"You mind if I do my job here, Ben? Y'mind?"

Lunch came and went and still no sign of Johnny or Richard, if you prefer. Benny knew that whatever the reason, it wasn't good and he was starting to wonder if the kid was dead somewhere. It wasn't anywhere out of the realm of possibility.

Just about the time Benny and Bruce were wondering what had happened a couple of kids were cutting though a vacant lot on their way home from school. They knew that they weren't supposed to go this way, their parents told them all the time; it was dangerous even in broad daylight. There were druggies there and bum and winos and all kinds of perverts. They knew, but it was a shortcut and there were three of them and so it should be okay. It wasn't like anyone was going to tell, right?

That's when they saw the guy. He looked like someone had beaten the crap outta him, lying there, unconscious or maybe dead. He didn't look old, maybe early twenties but he sure didn't look good.

They slowly went closer, looked at one another. One of them touched the guy with the tip of his sneaker, no reaction.

"Is he dead?"

"Shit if I know."

"Call 911."

"'You crazy? The cops can track phone numbers. They'll ask us questions and then our parents will know we were here."

"He's still breathing, you gotta call. He needs help."

"I..." He shook his head. He knew he should call, he knew that but it would be his ass if his mother found out.

"You call Jimmy; your phone is a disposable. Call and toss it, there won't be a record."

"Dude, that's my phone."

"It's like a $20 phone, idiot. Get another; the guy needs help. Call, toss the phone in the river and we'll pitch in for a new one for you, right guys?"

The others exchanges looks but nodded.

Jimmy made the call, "Yeah, hi. There's a guy lying in the empty lot by Dixon Docks, he looks like he was beat up...No, he isn't conscious. I gotta go."

The three kids ran.

By the time Benny left work, Johnny/Grayson hadn't returned to his work station.

He wouldn't be surprised to know that Dick Grayson had been dumped in a vacant lot down by the dockyard, beaten and with enough cocaine injected into his veins to cause an OD. Additional coke was found in his pockets along with the works needed to put it to use.

The young man in cubicle three was still out cold from the overdose. He didn't have any ID on him and was assumed to be another drifter druggie.

They were a dime a dozen, maybe he'd live and maybe he wouldn't. It was nothing the ER hadn't seen before.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 6**

An anonymous call was made to the local Gotham media along with a JPEG of Richard Grayson, Bruce Wayne's adopted and estranged son being loaded into an ambulance. Unconfirmed reports indicated a drug overdose.

Attempts for verification to both the hospital and to Wayne Corp were not returned.

Reporters staking out the hospital were removed to an area across the street, cordoned off by police tape. Hospital employees were reminded of the laws regarding patient's privacy. When Bruce Wayne's Bentley was seen driving down to the hospital's underground parking garage the driver had to shield his eyes due to the hundreds of camera flashes.

On the twelfth floor, the floor reserved for celebrities, wounded police officers and people with enough money to be able to afford the heightened security or who might have the need to feel extra special, Bruce Wayne was speaking with the doctor currently treating his son. A quick background check convinced Bruce that the woman was qualified and among the best for this sort of thing. He knew, of course, how this had happened. Or, rather, he more or less knew. What he didn't understand was how Dick could be overwhelmed by a drug dealers when he should have been aware that his cover was in jeopardy and to be more careful than usual or to remove himself from the area.

He knew better. What the hell had happened?

"Mr. Wayne, you son? Yes, your son has both inhaled and injected enough high grade cocaine to cause a severe overdose. He's being treated with diazepam (Valium) to decrease his elevated heart rate as well as paracetamol (acetaminophen)to treat hyperthermia (elevated body temperature). I've also ordered cooling blankets and fans. I've checked through his medical records and since he doesn't have a history of cardiac problems or high blood pressure we hope this will prevent any problems with either a heart attack or stroke. I also think that, since he's receiving treatment fairly quickly, any other long term effects should be minimal."

"How long?"

"Excuse me?"

"How long do you think he'll be here, need treatment.? When do you think he can be released?"

The woman looked at him for a moment. "We'll release him as soon as we think he's ready. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Bruce watched Dick, sweating despite the cooling blanket, air conditioning and meds, his face bruised, his ribs looking like he'd been kicked by someone wearing heavy boots. He should wake up in the next few hours, maybe then he'd find out how a fairly simple drug bust—albeit a large one—had gone south so far and so fast.

Meanwhile he had some calls to make. Or rather, Batman did.

* * *

Benny knew something bad had happened to Grayson, he knew it and while he figured it was a choice of either the kid or him, he didn't like it.

And his vote was for him every time.

Okay,the more he thought about it the angrier he got. Who was Grayson to ruin this for him? He'd been working away in the goddamned mail room for sixteen years, making enough to live on, sure, but not enough to really live. This whole thing, the drug thing fell into his lap and, sure he didn't like drugs, didn't like the people who got rich off of them, didn't like the people who used them; he sure liked the extra scratch.

"Hey Carlos, take a walk with me."

Down the corridor, no one around, Benny stopped and touched Carlos' arm. "So whaddya think?"

"About Johnny?"

"Yeah."

"I think Johnny was either as dumb as we think and stuck his nose in where it didn't belong or he's a lot smarter than we think and stuck his nose in where it didn't belong. That's what I think."

Benny nodded, 'sounded about right. "Either way, Johnny made a mistake."

"So it seems. Any word from upstairs?"

"Just that everything's set for later, just like they told us. You okay with it?"

Carlos shifted his feet, stalling for time..."I gotta bad feeling about this. How about you?"

Benny nodded but, "Too late to back out now and by this time tomorrow they say it should be all finished, move things someplace else. Just keep your head down, your mouth shut and do what they tell you."

He shook his head a little, uneasy. "'Bad feeling, I'm telling you."

Yeah, but they were in now, committed. Do or die and then, if everything goes right, count the money.

But he was worried about where Johnny was now, whether he was dead or alive and had a hunch that whichever it was would make a very large difference in his own life.

* * *

Upstairs at Wayne Corp, a meeting was being held in Conference ,Room three, the one used by mid-level executives when they had a need. Today, behind closed doors and with no secretaries or assistants around to take notes, five of Wayne's people were making decisions.

"We have to move now, not tonight. If Wayne's kid was messed over then it means that the fuckin' GCPD is on the case and, I'm betting that if Wayne has anything to do about it, he's hired the JLA, MI5, Interpol, FBI and the local dog catcher to settle things."

"I already called, the stuff is being loaded into the trucks as we speak. The planes are prepped and should be taking off within the hour."

He nodded, she'd done well and would get a bigger cut as a reward. "Is there anything—anything—to tie us to this. Any proof, anything hard evidence?"

"No."

They looked at one another. "So we stay at our jobs here, the money will be sent to numbered accounts in Switzerland and the Caymans and we lay low."

"...The when the heat is off, resign and live our lives."

"And never contact one another again for any reason."

"The others? The people at Coca-Cola, IBM, Google? They're on their own, right?"

Nods.

"Shouldn't we give them a heads up that we've been compromised?"

Blank, unfriendly looks all around. "You want to worry about us or them?"

"...Okay, we keep our mouths shut."

"That's the plan. And the toads in the mail room and driving the trucks and all of that take the fall."

"Yes."

"And Grayson?"

"He was the one who organized them, right?"

* * *

Bruce, or rather Batman, did what the drug importers suspected that he'd do; he called his friends to let them know that Dick was expected to make a full and as rapid as possible recovery and that the people responsible would be brought in and nailed to the proverbial wall. Then he thanked them for the offers but informed them that he would take on the case alone.

It wasn't going to be as easy as he thought it would be.

"But Sir, why ever not? Surely you and your co-workers have dealt with more complicated cases than this?"

Bruce gave Alfred a steady look over Dick's hospital bed where the young man remained unconscious. "Yes, of course but this time they seem to have covered every possible contingency and have planted enough evidence to make Dick look like he's involved."

"Surely it should be a simple matter to prove the extreme unlikelihood of that occurring."

"So it would seem but evidently that's not the case. His fingerprints are on the hypo they found, he had cocaine residue in his pockets, his locker at Wayne and at his work station. There are several sworn affidavits stating that he was seen both making buys and using while working and the dummy apartment he was living in looked like a meth lab."

Alfred sighed. "Yes, but surely..."

"I know. I'm working on it."

"_You're _working on it? I would think that Master Dick's situation would warrant the decision to allow the help of your and his peers."

The Batglare was lost on Alfred, though Bruce tried it anyway. "I think I'm capable of dealing with this. I do have some degree of experience to draw on."

Alfred stared at him, knew arguing was pointless; "Have you considered character witnesses?"

Bruce gave him a look which needed no explanation. Of course he'd lined those up. Now, unless or until the case actually broke, it was a case of their word against the evidence.

* * *

Later that night or early the next morning if you prefer, several trucks rolled through the Gotham streets, taking back roads and taking care to neither attract attention, go faster than the speed limit or run any red lights. If anyone had stopped them the drivers would have shown their paperwork, cargo manifests and up to date and valid licenses and registrations. The small caravan left the city via the New Triangle Bridge. The trucks split up once off the island, heading north up to Boston, west to Chicago and south to Baltimore.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 7**

Gordon picked up the phone, called Bruce Wayne and came close to throwing the phone when he was told by the manservant that 'Master Bruce is unavailable but I'll see to it that he receives your message.'

"That sonofabi..." Then stopped. If Wayne's son was a drug addict, as the media was making it seem, then it wasn't a surprise that the man wasn't taking calls. This didn't, however, mean that the boy was off the legal hook, no matter who he might be related to.

If he was using then he was buying. That was illegal and the last thing Gordon needed now, with corruption scandals threatening to taint his own force after the mess in the 'Haven were uncovered. This would have to be addressed, investigated no matter where the chips would end up falling. The last thing he needed were accusations of favoritism thrown at him and his force.

Sighing, he picked up the phone again and ordered that one of the Narcotics officers question the boy as soon as he was able to talk.

Still, he'd known Dick for years, since he was a child and he'd never pegged him as the type to use. He shook his head. Drugs were everywhere.

Batman knew that he had to move tonight or risk losing the bust Dick had worked weeks on. The importers and their dealers were suspicious or Dick wouldn't have been targeted and it was just dumb luck that the level of his OD was barely small enough to prevent his death.

He was still Batman's first Robin. He was part of the team. He was part of the community.

Dick Grayson was his son in every sense of the word aside from biology.

This was now personal.

In the security floor of the hospital the night nurse checked in on Mr. Wayne's son. He'd been doing so much better, making such a quick recovery as far as such things go. With any luck he'd be released in a day or two then probably spend some time in a rehab—likely one of those high end resort wannabe's where they patients were treated with kid gloves for twenty or thirty thousand dollars a month.

The room was empty. The man was gone.

He made a quick check of the bathroom, the conservatory down the hall and the vending machines. Nothing. He picked up the phone at the nurses station.

"Security..."

Three blocks away Dick Grayson haltingly made his way to the corner. It was around two in the morning, no one was around, no one he could ask to borrow a cell phone from to make an emergency call (his wasn't in his pocket, no surprise). There were no pay phones to be seen and no stores or fast food places open. He wasn't about to flag down a cop.

Turning left he headed up another five blocks and rang the night bell by the high-rise's main door. A guard, with none too good grace, left the security desk and stared at him through the thick glass, mouthing 'whaddya want?'.

"I need to use a phone, call my family."

"Not my problem, buddy; move along. Go home."

"My father works here."

"So he'll be here around nine like everybody else."

"You don't understand; my father is Bruce Wayne."

"And my mother is the Queen of Sheba. Go sleep it off, kid."

"You don't understand, I'm Dick—Richard Grayson. Bruce Wayne is my father." He shook his head. "I swear. Look, can I at least come in? If you have a copy of the company newsletter I can prove it."

The guard was sleepy because it was late and a long way from being in the mood to humor this bum. "Look kid, do us both a favor, go home. Come back when the place opens in the morning."

That was the final straw, Dick started pounding on the glass door. The guard called backup and now three guards opened the door, hauling the probably strung out loser inside. "Fred, call the cops." Fred, started to punch in the GCPD number when; "Wait, just give me ten seconds. Get the newsletter and I'll prove to you who I am. Please."

"Whatever." He handed over the copy someone had stuck in a cubby in the guards station. Turning to page five the kid pointed to a color photo of a small group of company higher ups cutting a ribbon at some playground or something. There in the middle was the kid—all cleaned up and wearing what looked like a five thousand dollar suit above the caption; "Richard Grayson opens the new playground at Grant Park. The new facility was funded by Wayne Corporation."

"That's me."

The guards looked closely at the picture.

Damn. The picture was small and it could just be someone who looked a little like the loser standing there but if there was even a small chance of him not lying well, this wasn't worth getting fired over and they still had the cops on speed dial.

"'Sorry Mr. Grayson, no hard feelings? I mean, we didn't expect you to show up and..."

He didn't quite roll his eyes. "It's okay—now, may I use a phone?" The events of the last twenty-four or thirty hours finally caught up with him and he sank into a chair as he picked up the phone. "Bruce...?"

Alfred was at the front door of Wayne Corp in record time, Dick carefully loaded inside with some much resented minor help and was about to be driven back to the manor when he demanded that he be taken to wherever Batman was. "This is my case, I know more about it than he does and I frigging earned to be in at the bust. They owe me that much."

"Language, if you don't mine, Master Richard. I seriously doubt that you're—if you'll forgive me—quite up to such activities at the moment and am confident that Master Bruce is more than capable to see the evening's activities to their completion."

"Alfred, seriously..."

"Yes, seriously, Master Richard." The car was driven directly back to the manor. Despite his demand that he be included in the bust—if a bust were to happen—Dick was barely conscious when they pulled into the garage.

Three different details of GCPD's best narcotics officers were dispatched; one to Wayne Corp to search and seize any controlled substances and dust for prints, one to the temporary apartment Dick Grayson, aka Johnny Lloyd had been using for the last six weeks or so and one to backup the regular officers assigned to help break the importing racket and stop the dispersal of the latest enormous shipment of pharmaceutical grade cocaine.

Underneath Wayne Manor Dick was sitting at the computer console, willing himself to function. "Batman, come in. Where are you?"

"Following two trucks headed into Pennsylvania. The local State Police have been notified and will stop them before they get past Allentown."

Dick exhaled in frustration. "That's a waste of time, there are at least six more trucks which were loaded and ready to roll, possibly train service is also involved and who's watching the airports? I'll check the bus terminals and..."

"You'll stay where you are. This is under control."

"Who do you have rounding up the Wayne employees? What about the contacts at the other companies? At Coke, USAir and the others? Wayne is just one of the..."

"We're on it."

"Jesus, will you listen to yourself? I know who you have to apprehend and you're still fishing. I've been working on this; I know where they're going, what probably routes their taking. Dammit, Bruce, get out of my way."

"You're not fit to work tonight; stay there and stop wasting time." Communications were cut.

"Bruce...goddammit."

Across town Gordon's men were breaking into Richard Grayson, aka Johnny Lloyd's apartment. Inside they found just what they expected; a meth lab, packages of cocaine, residue on virtually every surface, mess everywhere, rotted take out remains in the fridge, dirty clothes and drops of blood here and there, likely from drug usage. There were handwritten notes in what appeared to be his handwriting alluding to drop off sites, dates and times. There were lists of phone numbers and a cheap, throw away cell phone with phone numbers loaded into the phone list. They'd be checked but, in all likelihood, would already be disconnected by the time anyone could trace them.

The place looked, smelled and felt like a temporary drug laundering site.

After being dusted for fingerprints, taking samples for DNA testing the place was photographed and locked, the door sealed with crime scene tape.

The media, both local and otherwise monitor the various emergency radio bands as a matter of course. Some quick checking and the connection was made within an hour or so of the police working on shutting down the importers.

The name Wayne Corporation came up quickly. Reporters surrounded the employee entrance and the main door, questioning anyone who went in or out, regardless of the hour.

"You work in there? Do you have any comment about Wayne headquarters being used as a major drug laundering operation?"

"Mr. Fox, Lucius-Mr. Fox; why are you here at after midnight? Did Wayne himself arrange his son's bail? Was the kid arrested?"

"What's the truth about Richard being treated for an overdose? Has he been using long?"

"Where's Bruce now? Is it true that Commissioner Gordon put out orders to close off Wayne Manor?" Has a search order been issued?"

No one said anything other than 'no comment'.

Jim Gordon was appraised of the public outcry regarding Bruce Wayne's son's likely involvement with a major drug cartel and, reluctantly, knew he had to respond. "Katherine; I need a search warrant issued for Wayne Manor and an arrest warrant for Dick Grayson for questioning."

Seven squad cars were granted entrance to the Manor grounds while the officers who had already searched Grayson's fake apartment wrote up their reports in record time.

On a secondary highway in central Pennsylvania four rented trucks were stopped by State Troopers.

The men inside the trucks drew their automatic guns. Five police were killed outright, eight more seriously wounded before the drivers and on-board security were subdued. The trucks were photographed, the scene would be gone over with fine tooth combs, the contents locked in evidence lockers.

Meanwhile, seven other trucks continued on their way, pulling off the road within a very few miles onto tertiary lanes and hidden inside a barn on the outskirts of a small farming town. Two freight cars on the Lackawanna line and two private planes continued unimpeded.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Part 8**

Alfred made his way down to the Cave, not all that surprised to be greeted by the kind of silence which told him no one was there other than himself and a few stray bats. Shaking his head he activated the trace which, with any luck, would let him know where the young master had taken himself this time.

The small green light on the computer generated map remained stationary; it was been removed from whichever vehicle Richard had chosen to use.

There was little he could do other than advise Nightwing's colleagues and then wait. And worry.

* * *

Benny was home, watching the Final Four round of the basketball playoffs, not paying attention, not knowing nor caring which teams were playing. He was scared, frightened and terrified about what would go down tonight and knew there was a fair to good chance that he would somehow be implicated. He was almost all right with that; it was the fact he knew that he was expendable which had him worried. He'd thought ahead though; he'd taken out a new life insurance policy. Better to be safe than sorry, right?

Across town Carlos was also sitting by his TV, the same unwatched basketball game playing out in front of him.

One bullet hole marred the middle of his forehead, a single line of blood had dripped into his left ear then down to the carpet.

* * *

The fire sirens wailed through Gotham as flames were just beginning to become visible from Wayne Enterprises headquarters. Three, then five and finally eleven fire companies responded and, barely, managed to contain the blaze before the entire building was consumed.

Unnoticed by anyone, a few carefully placed super breaths help extinguish the fire and managed to keep the flames away from the floors above the third level, preserving evidence of a massive drug ring being operated from the building. Despite the super help the building was a mess and it would be at least weeks, if not longer before it would be opened again for normal business. The water and smoke damage alone was enough to occupy teams of specialists for a good while.

Meanwhile, calls to Bruce Wayne from the fire departments, the police, Lucius Fox and Commissioner Gordon were answered by Alfred, promising to immediately give Mr. Wayne the messages and stress their importance but, for now, he was unavailable.

* * *

Police responded within minutes to a 911 call originating from Wayne Manor over on Brixton Road.

In fact they'd already been on their way over when the report came through that a smallish incendiary device had exploded, destroying the main gate and allowing anyone passing by access to the grounds. One of Wayne's cars, a smallish SUV used for errands by the staff was destroyed as it tried to pass through the entrance, it's passing likely triggering the bomb. A staff member going out for dinner was killed though no one from the 'family' was injured.

The butler immediately came out to the site.

The grounds were thoroughly searched after a search warrant which the police and their back up had come to serve, was handed to Mr. Pennyworth.

Twenty men, all in ATF jackets or wearing GCPD uniforms swarmed methodically through the main house and all of the out buildings while the bomb squad investigated the bombing. They went through drawers, closets, pried into the refrigerator in the main and supplementary kitchens. They went through every car in the garage with fine toothed combs. They inspected the feed in the stables, examined the pool chemicals. The stopped short of the large, locked safe in the master's private study but made it clear that it wasn't excluded from the search and would have to be opened. Until that time it was sealed with police tape which Alfred was told couldn't be removed by anyone without the proper authorization.

In a frighteningly short amount of time the various officers found evidence of a drug operation being run from the manor itself with further evidence of a meth lab in one of the out buildings.

Drug paraphernalia was found in a Porsche generally used by Mr. Wayne's adopted son, as well as residue of cocaine in the bedroom he used.

An arrest warrant was prepared for Richard Grayson, current whereabouts unknown

Meanwhile, Alfred contacted the family of the man killed by the planted bomb, as gently as possible breaking the news and offering whatever help he and Mr. Wayne could give.

* * *

Reports of large, likely arson caused fires were called into the overtaxed fire departments. The Gotham headquarters of Coca-Cola was saved but the Gotham Stock Exchange was gutted. Other large companies were also targeted; Microsoft in California, General Motors in Michigan and USAir all received threatening letters, calls and e-mails which were taken seriously.

* * *

Another letter also was received, this time at GBS Television studios in Metropolis. News anchor Clark Kent opened his mail to find a word processor typed note:

_**Bruce Wayne and his adopted son Richard Grayson are heading a major drug importing ring based on the East Coast. **_

_**I will stop them.**_

_**I will hurt them and then I will kill them like they have done to others.**_

Immediately his thoughts began analyzing the contents, paper fiber and possible source of the note. While it was possible that it was a crank, it was more likely that it was generated by someone with some kind of revenge in mind. The parents or loved one of an addict? The relative or friend of someone serving time for dealing? A frustrated police officer?

The paper was nothing special. There was no DNA anywhere on it. The letter was franked from a small town in Arizona but that, of course, meant nothing.

He had to assume that this was legitimate while knowing it might not be. He picked up his JLA communicator to alert Bruce and Dick.

"I'm terribly sorry, Master Kent, but both of the masters are otherwise engaged this evening. Perhaps I could take a message?"

Clark left what information he could and shook his head. Incredible.

* * *

Nightwing was riding full out on his latest custom Ninja, headed to the warehouse he'd pinned as being the main distribution center for the importers but found the doors opened and the large building empty and deserted.

Remounting his bike he paused, pulled out his communicator and contacted Roy Harper, Donna Troy and Wally West on a conference hookup.

"Dude, are you crazy? The news is all rover that Richard Grayson is evading an arrest warrant for some major drug distribution all over the East Coast and probably everywhere known to man."

"Yeah, whatever, I'm being framed and need some help; take the address I'm sending you and see what's going on."

"And what are we looking for, my man?"

"Drugs. Importers. Donkeys. Bad guys; the usual but get moving—time matters. There's a major operation which needs to be stopped and..."

"Slow down a minute; do you know what's going on in you home town?"

"No time for this..."

Donna's voice cut through, "Nightwing, listen to me; Wayne Headquarters is burning, it's like a ten alarm fire or something and there are rumors that the Manor has been searched or is being searched by every cop in the city. I heard that an arrest warrant has been issued for you. It's an APB (all points bulletin)"

"Crap. Not surprising but crap. Well, yeah, no matter—go work guys."

His friends acknowledged and signed off. They knew who called the shots for them, no matter how much time had gone by.

* * *

In Pennsylvania Batman was dealing with drug busts in Allentown when he heard the communications chatter come through letting him know about the involvement of the former Titans. Exhaling in frustration—Dick was supposed to be home recovering, he accepted that Nightwing was now actively working on the bust. It was what he'd expected but hoped wouldn't happen; the boy (as he still thought of him) needed more recovery time before he would be at full strength. This could be a mistake.

Reluctantly, now understanding that the cartel was larger than they'd thought, he put in a call to the JLA. The faster they wrapped this up, the better. Within minutes four JLA members, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, J'onn Jonzz and Black Canary were on the trail of four different under bosses of the drug cartel.

It was elementary and basic as far as they were concerned and within two hours they were well on the way to arrests. The only real problems they had, after Nightwing had done all the legwork for them and the cases were handed to them on the proverbial silver platters, was that none of them could really understand why they were needed since the case was essentially solved before they joined the party.

"Because Batman asked us, that's why." Wonder Woman felt the need to defend the man after the years they'd worked together.

"He's being his usual ass self and you know it." Canary didn't seem to share Diana's loyalty. "And you'll notice that Ollie didn't feel compelled to miss that stupid basket ball game for this."

"...And that would be one of the differences between the two, wouldn't it?"

* * *

Around various cities and suburbs on the Eastern half of the country there were a series of execution type deaths reports starting to trickle in to various police departments and media headquarters. The single connecting factor discovered was that the victims were all possibly connected, one way or another, with a large drug ring. Over thirty bodies were discovered.

The word was going out. TV news stations ran 'live as it's happening' crawls. Internet sites were on top of the various breaking stories with endless tweets stating various opinions.

'always nu Wayne was dirrrrty'

'Maj drugs? Where's mine?'

'Explains the Bat. Stoner'

'Damn—gotta move 2 Gotham'

There would be no containing this. None.

* * *

Nightwing decided to make at least one arrest itself; the men who ordered his framing and OD. Much as he knew better than to allow such things to affect him on a personal level he didn't care. This time it _was _personal. It didn't even matter to him that these weren't the top guys, the brains—such as they were—behind this. Those people were already on the list to be apprehended, or would be soon enough. He wanted to be in on this himself.

Much as he knew better, he didn't care.

Using the evidence he'd managed to put together from his weeks in Wayne's mail room he headed to the overly mortgaged and pretentious home of Bruce's head of Legal. He checked the garage, looked through the windows and made sure the bastard was home. Dressed as Dick Grayson, clean jeans, a well fitting shirt, he rang the bell.

"Mr. Thatcher? I was hoping that I might have a word with you." He extended his hand, "Richard Grayson." The man just stared, unsure what to do. "Yes, I'm feeling much better, thank you. May I come in?"

A woman's voice from another room, "Bill? Who's there?"

The man, still unsure, kept his eyes on Dick but turned his head to answer. "Someone from work, Jane, We'll just be in the study." He stepped aside. "Follow me." Dick gave him a questioning look. "I won't do anything."

And if he did Dick was prepared.

Thatcher took the oversized leather chair behind the expensive desk, likely an antique and equally likely purchased by a decorator to fit in with the room. It was the position of power. Dick took one of the visitor chairs across from the man and watched without comment as he realized without surprise that the man was taking a pistol from a holder attached to the desk's leg opening and out of sight. He started to raise his hand, cocked gun, no doubt, ready to fire.

"That wouldn't be a good idea."

The gun was now on top of the desk, pointed at Dick who remained unconcerned.

"On the contrary, I think it's a very good idea to defend myself and my family from a drug user and narcotics supplier who's broken into my home."

"Am I to assume that you'll also kill the friends who are with me?"

"A few more drug addicts? I'm not worried. As soon as I'm finished with you I'll have the police here and it will all work out as planned."

Dick seemed to consider for a moment then commented, "I doubt it." He slightly raised his voice, "Guys? Come on in."

The french doors to Dick's right opened, the three Titans calmly walked in, obviously ready to deal with anything. "My friends here have been helping me out by looking around your place here and I suspect, once they speak to the local authorities, things will work out more as I planned and less for you than you seem to assume." He glanced at the gun, "I really wouldn't use that if I were you."

Thatcher smiled, this was getting to actually be fun. "You don't expect me to believe that these are the real Titans, do you? So you hired some look alikes; you're rich, wouldn't be difficult."

Dick just gave a small, very small smile and nod just as Thatcher fired his handgun. The sound was loud in the enclosed room, though the bullet went wide, burying itself in a wall—Flash had knocked the man's hand in more than enough time to spoil his aim.

"_Bill! Bill! What happened?Are you all right?_" A woman's frightened voice through the locked study door.

The man paused, surrounded by more than he could deal with and made a smart choice. "I'm fine, just made a stupid mistake cleaning the gun; don't worry, I'm all right—go back to your movie."

"...Bill...?"

"I'm fine." His voice was hard, cruel and not to be contradicted. His wife knew when she'd been dismissed and that he was to be left alone until he decided otherwise. Her footsteps retreated from the door.

Flash had Thatcher tied before he could knew it was happening, Red Arrow had an arrow aimed at his heart and Troia on the imported desk while her friends did their thing while she spoke; "There are cell phones in his car's glove compartment with numbers programmed into the call lists; they match up with the numbers the police discovered on his computer and those of the linchpins at Dell, Coke and two different airlines. Fingerprints all match up and will tie him to the others. We also have three truck drivers and five crooked GCPD members who have signed affidavits saying he's the ringleader of a massive drug importing scheme."

"You have nothing—their words against mine. That's all circumstantial; you can't tie me to anything."

"Except for your DNA on a memo which was found in the pocket of one of the men down in Wayne's mail room. It's a cryptic thing, just dates and a phone number along with a couple of license plates which match the ones on a couple of the delivery trucks. I'm afraid that will pretty much tie you in as far as the police and the DA are concerned."

Red Arrow lifted an eyebrow to Dick. "Nicely done."

"Thank you."

"This doesn't mean anything. You think that just because you managed to smarm your way in here, managed to maybe get some second string heroes to back you up—and how much did you pay them for this?—that you've won anything? You think you can get the best of me?"

Donna almost laughed but restrained herself. "Oh c'mon; you know we're better at our jobs than that." She held up a CD Thatcher, the label was one he recognized. "I found this in your office safe a little while ago, just managed to get it out before the fire at Wayne Headquarters could get to it."

"And that would be what, Billy Joel's Greatest Hits?" 'Best defense is a good offense. "So you planted some evidence; you'll never prove it's in any way tied to me."

"You mean other than your fingerprints on it? I'm guessing the lab will find some more of your DNA as well, y'think?" She turned to Dick, "I'll let Nightwing know that we're finished here. Did you call the Brixton police yet?"

Dick had his cell phone in hand. "'Right now and let 'Wing know I owe him one."

She nodded with a full smile. "'Count on it. You good?"

"The only way it would get better would be if it was Christmas." The Titans waited three minutes until they heard the police sirens before leaving, 'Dick had asked them to check the roads north of the city, armed them with license plate numbers and knew they'd find at least a couple more of the transfers before they could be completed.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Part 9**

In Pennsylvania Batman was finishing with the local police, the drivers and their guards were all in custody. Done deal, time to go home. Though he likely wouldn't say anything, he was proud of the way Dick had handled the case.

The boy he'd taken in, raised, trained and given focus to had become his own man and a successful one, at that.

He steered the big car back to Gotham, the night's busts done, dawn starting to show on the horizon as he drove east. He was tired but knew he'd have to show up at Wayne headquarters first thing in the morning, show his face, reassure the employees and shareholders. They had to know that everything would be put back to normal as soon as was humanly possible. He should have been there while the fire was burning and some plausible excuse would have be made but that would be tomorrow. For now things were in reasonable shape. All things considered.

And Dick would be fine. Leslie was checking to make sure that the OD wouldn't have any lasting effects. He hoped.

In fact Bruce was more worried about this than he'd let on to either Dick or Alfred. Though he knew Dick wold have looked things up himself, the facts were that there could be long lasting and serious effects from the OD he'd been forced into.

That Dick had survived the amount of cocaine was a feat in itself; it could have killed him outright, damaged his heart, caused him to have a stroke or other complications. Long term problems could include severe organ damage. His heart, liver, lungs, brain and kidneys could be affected. He could have extensive damage to his intestines, his digestive tract, bladder. Beyond that the drug could cause changes in the way a person thinks, feels and reacts even after the drug is a distant memory. The possibility of psychosis, panic attacks, body tremors or delusions could still be down the road for Dick.

All they could do was keep a close watch on him, make sure that he was aware of the possibilities and hope for the best.

But, with any luck, soon everything would be back to normal. And would stay that way.

'Normal' being a relative term, of course.

**Three months later**

When the dust settled, it ended that most of the drugs got through, some were stopped, some arrests were made but...

Wayne HQ burned, eleven people who were trapped couldn't get out, were dead. The building wasn't destroyed but the damage to roughly a third of the floors was severe. In addition there was extensive water and smoke damage which would have to be addressed. The building inspectors were determining if the structure could be repaired or would have to be demolished and rebuilt. In the interim, business was being conducted from rented offices about a mile from the Tower's site. A more pressing concern was recovering records which were kept in the various departments; Legal, Accounting, HR and others. Of course they had backups but some things were, of necessity, kept on paper—legal files and cases in progress and the like.

Bruce made statements assuring stockholders and the public in general—as well as the employees—that everything would be restored and the company's many arms were still in business, healthy and work would continue on all projects. No one would lose their jobs, wages would continue to be paid and soon everything would be back to normal.

His statement was met with skepticism tinged with hope that he wasn't lying or delusional.

In regards to the drugs, three of the fully loaded trucks got through unimpeded, their cargo delivered and on the streets in less than two days after that night. One commercial bus, it's baggage compartment containing four suitcases and duffel bags filled with cocaine and heroin, made it through to New England without problem.

Two small private planes landed at Olson Airport, a small private field around twenty-five miles from Chicago. It was late and no one questioned the pilots who were old high school friends of the single guy in the control tower. Their cargo was delivered on time.

At a family dinner at the Manor, Dick and Bruce discussed how quickly Wayne Tower was being repaired; Bruce seemed pleased with the progress. "You did well with that undercover job." An unexpected compliment which Dick took with grain of salt. He knew it hadn't been a complete success, that too many people had died, that most of the drugs got through and were continuing to get through; the only difference was that the names and places of the deals had changed a bit. In fact, little had changed other than the details and specifics of location and various individuals involved.

Unspoken were the Wayne building deaths. Of course insurance would be paid, trust funds set up for the families and all of that but the losses would remain and no amount of time would change the new reality for the ones still left alive.

So Dick dismissed the compliment, rare as they were from Bruce. And he was angry. "I didn't make any difference, not in the long run. Drugs—we can't stop them, there are too many people who'll pay serious money to get them, too many people barely at the poverty level who can't make any kind of a living any other way than growing or manufacturing. What we did was a drop in the bucket."

"It's something."

"Something, but not much."

"Dick, this doesn't sound like you."

"How many people were killed just in this operation? A dozen? More? Add to that the employees you lost...There are 350 OD's a day in this country, around 120,000 people a year die.* You know the stats."

"But we have to do what we can, you know that."

"Sure, but in fact, we didn't really do anything other than make a gesture."

"Are you saying that we should hang it up, not bother?"

Dick looked pensive. "No, I'm not but it just seems sometimes...I don't know, sometimes it seems like we're fighting something which can't really be fought."

"Excuse me?"

"It a war we can't win. We may win a few battles but overall...?" He shrugged. "Do you know anyone who doesn't know someone who's died or been through rehab? I don't." A mental picture of Roy came to mind, though he was hardly the only one.

Bruce looked at him. "I wouldn't exactly call us representative of that." Dick just gave him a look and he was right in a way, of course, but that didn't mean that the fight shouldn't be fought. There were too many lives destroyed and not just the users themselves. For every death there were family and friends left behind; parents, spouses, children, neighbors. They suffered the effects as well. There were countless arguments, family fights, interventions. There were the financial costs, the emotional toll. There were the careers destroyed or never begun. There were too many genuinely innocent victims from the exploited workers in the poppy or whichever fields they worked in, there were the families, the employers. There were the ones whose belongings were stolen and sold for a fix by someone they knew and hoped they could trust.

The list was a long one. Too long.

There was the waste in terms of productivity, accomplishment, simply leading a normal life.

Dick spoke again. "Something like half or a third of all inmates in American prisons are there for drug offenses. 'All the laws on the books and they haven't made much difference." He took a drink of his beer. "You know that anti-drug program that's in almost every school in the country; DARE? It doesn't work. The teachers know it, the cops know it. It's a feel good sop to the parents."

"That's not true."

"Yeah, it is. You ask any fifth grader if drugs are a bad thing and they all say yes. You ask the same question of a class of high school juniors and most of them agree but there's still a group which use. You know it's true."

Bruce sighed, this was going nowhere and he was tired of talking about it. It was frustrating and he suspected he couldn't make any headway with Dick because the points he was making were too good. "So what are you going to do now? Do you have any new cases lined up?"

"I'm still signed up to start the Police Academy in Bludhaven in two months, I'm going to do that, 'see what I can do to clean up the mess down there."

"So you're not giving up?"

"Dick have a small, sly smile. "Did I say I was?"

*These numbers are real.

* * *

But the problems weren't solved, not even the ones from this case. The next morning, early, around six AM three police cruisers pulled up to the main gate of Wayne Manor. An officer pressed the intercom.

"Yes?"

"Police; we have business with Richard Grayson, would you please open the gate? I have a warrant to search this property." The gate swung open, three minutes later the cars were at the front door, as were the police. Alfred allowed them to come in, Bruce and Dick both alerted and waiting to deal.

"Richard Grayson? We have a warrant for your arrest for suspicion of intent to sell controlled substances." Dick nodded, he was expecting this. Handcuffed, his rights were read and Bruce assured him that lawyers would meet them at the station. He was loaded into a squad car while the occupants of the other two cars served Bruce with a new warrant to search the property. He had no choice but to comply.

At the station house two of Bruce's best arrived within forty minutes of their receiving a call from Bruce himself. Lucius was also informed and knew to begin containment of the large and still growing scandal. It was known that Dick was a suspect but this ratcheted things up and could cause serious problems for the company.

The facts were laid out quickly. Dick was being indicted as a co-conspirator to traffic controlled substances. There had been cocaine and various paraphernalia found in his car, his apartment, his locker at Wayne Enterprises and in his suite at Wayne Manor. The fact that he tested clean meant nothing. He wasn't being accused of using, he was being accused of distributing. The reason for the delay in his arrest? The police knew the suspect would have the best legal minds to be had working to free him and wanted to make sure that the case was as close to air-tight as they could make it.

Bail, an exorbitant fifteen million dollars, surrender of his passport and wearing a tracking anklet which wasn't to be outside the main Wayne home, was quickly agreed to and paid.

Bruce issued a statement, reading it himself at a hastily called press conference; "My son, Richard, is completely innocent of all the charges which have been leveled against him. He will be vindicated and we are doing everything possible to cooperate with the police in this investigation.

"Wayne Enterprises is, in no way, implicated in the heinous drug cartel which has infiltrated several of our nation's largest corporations. The people behind this have, in many cases already been apprehended and others are being sought; they will be brought to justice and the many people affected by this crime will be able to resume their normal lives.

"As for the solvency of Wayne Corporation, I can give you my personal assurances that business as usual will continue while this is resolved. Thank you."

He declined to answer any questions.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**part 10**

Note: Apologies to Char and the ABA for my stab at legal stuff.

Lucius Fox was forefront in assembling the legal team to defend not only Richard Grayson but also Wayne Corporation. While no charges had been filed against the company, the fact that the CEO's son was under serious suspicion of several felonies was enough to distance the young man from the current problems. As it was, the company's stock had taken a hit and it was only because Bruce Wayne himself still had a majority holding that the drop wasn't worse.

The stockholders were demanding answers and resolution and soon.

* * *

Dick paced the conservatory, bored and angry. The ankle bracelet chaffed physically and emotionally, he was innocent and he was frustrated that he couldn't just clear this mess by calling a press conference and telling everyone that the reason he'd been working at Wayne was because he was undercover to lay the groundwork for the drug cartel's bust. Instead he was confined to the Manor (okay, the place was over eight thousand square, not including the cave, but it was still confinement), assumed to be a loser druggy and forced to spend endless hours dealing with the legal team on a daily basis. Beyond that, he was concerned about whether or not he would now be cut from the wait list for the Bludhaven Police Academy. If that happened—as it well might—then his hope to clean up the corrupt BPD from the inside was a done deal before it got out of the starting blocks.

The illogical, childish side of him wanted to complain that it wasn't fair, that he was a good guy and was doing something right which had to be done.

The adult, reasonable side of him argued that he knew the potential for a mess like this when he took the mail room job and so suck it up.

And since when were things always fair?

* * *

The PTB in Bludhaven PD were discussing the application of Richard Grayson just about the same time Dick was wondering what his fate would end up being with that organization.

"He's crooked, he's high profile and we don't need the baggage he'll be dragging."

"He's also Wayne's son so that baggage comes wrapped in a pretty damn high end ribbon."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning if this kid wants to be a cop so bad maybe we can work something out."

"..."

"What? You don't think he can afford to buy, say, his own uniforms, gun, vest, put some gas in the squad car?"

"And I assume that you've given some thought as to how much all that would cost."

"You're suggesting that he should cover his expenses if we decide to take him on?"

"Pay for play is an ugly expression. I'm simply saying that with his resources, or those of his 'father', a contribution to the BPD Widows and Orphans Fund wouldn't be rejected."

"And how much thought have you given to this? A figure come to mind?"

"Well, nothing specific, no, but I would think that somewhere around five million would cover his expenses for a while."

"Police training isn't cheap?"

"You've got to spend money to make money. Why don't we wait until we see where this mess Grayson is in ends up and then let him know we still believe in him, think he has potential and he still has a place with us if he wants it."

"With conditions."

"With conditions."

"So, we're in agreement?"

"Assuming he isn't found guilty and ends up in a federal prison, I'd say so."

A nod.

* * *

While Dick's frustration continued under the restrictions his legal team went to work. Nightwing was grounded, though it wouldn't have been difficult for him to reprogram the anklet to either give a false signal or to simply be left in the Manor while he went out. According to Bruce, the risks simply didn't seem worth the benefits, though Dick didn't agree and he did sneak out a couple of times in an effort to gather more evidence for his own defense.

He almost felt sorry that both Carlos and Benny had been killed but hadn't been surprised when he'd been told. It was playing with fire and getting burned. They'd made their choices and it wasn't like they were the first to pay a price.

The meetings with the lawyers were all the same; they seemed to believe that Dick was innocent, despite the planted evidence against him and were doing everything they could to make the case that he'd been framed. Or so he hoped. Obviously they'd do their damnedest to get him off since they were on Bruce's payroll but whether they really thought he was innocent, despite him telling them he'd been in the mail room to gather evidence, he had no idea. In fact, it didn't matter when you came down to it.

It was a little hard to explain why he, a civilian, was gathering evidence against a drug cartel and they were thinking about dropping that line of defense unless they could come up with a plausible explanation. The best he'd been able to come up with was that, since he'd applied to the Bludhaven Police Academy, he thought that it would look good if he proved he could do the police, detective thing, even though he didn't know what he was really doing. Maybe he could prove to them that he had some potential.

It was worth a shot, anyway.

If that didn't work they were hoping that bringing in character witnesses would offset the druggie perception being touted in the press, the usual rich, spoiled kid getting greedy and needing to fund his habit idea. Grayson had been as clean as a freshly detailed car since he'd bee taken in by Wayne; no arrests, straight 'A' student, never in trouble, clean cut—a seeming perfect kid all along until now. The blood tests showing cocaine use? He'd been set up, never used before or after and if that didn't fly, well, he's human. What—you never made a mistake you regret?

Something else which was worth a shot. Hell, it might even work, or at least help.

The main guys, the men and women who ran the import operation were, for the most part, safely hiding in other countries, ones with no extradition treaties with the US. The middle level people, the ones who worked for Wayne and the other companies were either under indictment or laying low, crossing their fingers that the hand of fate would pass them by.

The media and the public seemed to assume that justice would go as it often did in such cases; someone would take the fall and business would go on as usual with the real top guys walking free.

"Have you seen this?" Dick showed Bruce the e-mail which had just come through from Lucius. It stated that he, that Lucius, was being investigated as to whether he had any knowledge of the drug trafficking at Wayne Corp. It was ridiculous, of course, but dammit. This was growing into a bigger mess than they'd thought and they'd thought it would be bad.

"Jesus. Call a press conference for this afternoon. I need to put a lid on the rumors."

"Yeah, good. And while you're at it, explain why your son was playing village idiot in your mail room."

Bruce gave him a filthy look. "You really want to open that can of worms? 'You go in front of the press you're going to be asked questions I don't think you want to answer. Have someone in the company issue a strong statement of support for Lucius and keep you and me out of it."

"I don't like it. It looks like we're ducking questions."

"Of course we're ducking questions but that doesn't mean that Lucius should take any more heat than he already is."

"Not to put too fine a point on it but Lucius gets paid a lot of money to take heat."

A momentary glare then "That was obnoxious even for you, Bruce. Lucius has pulled your chestnuts out of the fire more times than you can count; you owe him better than that." Dick stood, gave Bruce another look then left the room.

Bruce was well used to Dick's occasional dramatic entrances and exits but in this case the boy was right.

* * *

In a Senior Vice President's office in one of the top investment companies in North America, a woman was meeting behind closed doors with two colleagues.

"So far no one who matters has been implicated so as long as we keep our heads down and keep smiling, go about our daily business, we should be all right."

The man sitting across from her, the one wearing the four thousand dollar bespoke suit, shook his head. "The police aren't done yet. The rumor is that some of the JLA costumes are getting involved—Wayne has some of them in his pocket, probably pays the bills for that satellite they operate from. Look, I don't think the charges against his son are going to stick and when he walks the feds and everyone else will start looking somewhere else."

"And you're saying that they'll start looking at us? Seriously?"

He didn't smile and he didn't agree with her arrogance. "I think that we're not as safe as you seem to think we are. People talk, it's what they do, especially when they're threatened or scared."

Maybe. "What do you suggest?"

"I suggest that we consider our options."

"We need to redirect the investigation, make sure that they don't look our way."

An exasperated sound. "And how, pray tell, do you suggest we do that? Buy off Gordon?" Sarcasm wasn't always subtle.

"Well, no, but I think that we may have some luck with the two tiers below us. The bottom feeders, the grunts are all either dead or in cells, it's the middle people I told you we shouldn't have stiffed financially. Get to them, pay they some real money, make some suggestions as to how they can help us."

"Make them offers they can't refuse?"

"Pretty much, yes. And also take care of the lowlifes the cops have in custody."

"How?"

"...Pay for it, obviously. And soon."

Within two weeks there were a series of suspicious deaths in several suburbs and relatively expensive high rise condos around the Gotham area and others mainly on the East Coast. No one bothered or cared enough to connect the dots. The victims were all youngish, junior or mid-range executives at large corporations, all making in the $100,000-$300,000 range. The only connection, if connection it was, was that jewelry and easily pawn-able items were taken. No clues were left, or at last none which were found or acknowledged. Just few more unsolved theft/murders to add to the files.

In several corporate headquarters tension was subtly relieved.

* * *

Charges were pending against Richard Grayson, the lawyers were in place, both to prosecute and defend. The press was having a field day, rabid for any new piece of information, hint, rumor or suggestion about virtually anything. Old footage and archival film, articles and photos about Dick and Bruce were dragged out for new airings. Dr. Phil speculated that the young man's turn to the dark side may well have it's roots in the violence and trauma of his parent's deaths and subsequent removal to the custody of Bruce Wayne after the indefensible oversight of being incarcerated in juvenile detention after his violent orphaning at the age of eight.

In some quarters an up swell of sympathy started for Dick, petitions demanding that the poor thing receive the psychological help he obviously needed instead of threatening him with prison. A Facebook page was started 'Friends of Richie Rich' and received over a hundred thousand hits in the first week.

In the Mayor's office an emergancy meeting was called. "Look, this thing is getting away from us, we need to do something before it becomes untenable. Find someone, anyone who's a higher up in this mess, nail them to the wall and then we can probably offer the Grayson kid some kind of plea bargain or reduced penalty or something. Prove to the public that we're compassionate and care and all of that crap."

"But Ma'am, it looks like he's guilty as hell. All the evidence points to..."

The man was cut off with a filthy look.

The Mayor spoke again, softly, as though speaking to a recalibrate child which, in her eyes, she was. "Let me just remind you that Bruce Wayne supports a major hospital, a free clinic, employs six thousand people in his headquarters, pays however the hell how many millions in taxes to this city every year, brings in Christ knows how much trade and business—not to mention the hotel room reservations, car rentals, restaurant meals and everything else his conferences everything else he does generate. If, for the sake of argument, he decides to relocate to, say, New York, LA or Timbuktu the economic consequences would be, well, not pretty. Elections are in six months. Do I make myself clear?"

He wanted to keep his job and the perks which went with them? Nail someone, anyone else and make sure that Wayne's kid received rehab or whatever else he needed and make sure that it happened fast. "Uh, yes Ma'am, you do."

TBC

.


End file.
